


Time Flies When You've Got Close to None

by 65writings



Category: Bipper - Fandom, Gravity Falls, billdip - Fandom
Genre: Angst, I tried writing angst I hope it all wrks out, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/65writings/pseuds/65writings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roses are red;<br/>Violets are blue.<br/>If I'm going to die tonight,<br/>I want to die kissing you. </p>
<p>Or: Human!Bill Cipher and Dipper Pines spend Dipper's dying moments together as an hourglass counts down the agonizing minutes until his death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Flies When You've Got Close to None

**_Roses are red;_ **

He's shaking, _trembling_. Mortality is a scary concept. 

Hair curled with sweat and matted against his sticky forehead, hands clasped together to keep steady, eyes pressed shut in apprehensive dear - Dipper has never felt so human. And to be human is to be vulnerable. And he's never felt so vulnerable.

There's an internal clock ticking down inside his head. Not that he has any sense of time; there's watches (and an hourglass) for things like that.

Everything is moving too fast.

But, like they say, flies when you've got close to none. 

Fear is no stranger; Dipper has felt fear more than he's felt comfortable or elated or numb. But never before has he felt fear so raw. Maybe because his it's justified this time. He is not one to buckle in the face of fear - to kneel in front of petrifying beasts, cower before daunting challenges, collapse under the burden of any temptation - but this, this is like no other. 

The hourglass is pouring out the last minutes of his existence.   
This is what he gets for trying to be a hero. Death. And not even a noble death. No undefeated beasts. No pure silver swords with diamond-encrusted hilts. No honorable bloodshed. No names going down in history. 

Just a curse. And an hourglass. And Dipper sobbing into the thin fabric of his boyfriend's t-shirt - snot, tears, muffled sobs, and all.

In his mind, Dipper's pleading with Bill to do something. Bill is magic. He can do anything. 

He _was_ magic, at least. He _could_ do anything, at one time.

But he gave all of it up for Dipper. For this. 

For holding hands while walking down the street. For starting food fights while baking celebratory cookies. For half-drunken slow dancing in the kitchen at ungodly hours of the morning. For holding each other in their very last moments. 

Only they hadn't expected that that last one would come so soon.

The only way Bill could have his human body was to give up his magic. At the time, it wasn't even a question. He immediately gave it all up for love in a single human heartbeat. But now, he's starting to think he'd made the wrong decision. 

Dipper lets out a sob, letting the lean muscles of Bill's chest dull the sound. Bill tightens his arms around him - one wrapped around his waist and the other flattening his shoulders. 

It's not even the inevitability of his own death that's so traumatizing to Dipper. It's the devastating fact that he will never see Bill again. 

So Dipper really wishes, in this moment, that Bill was still a shapeshifting triangular anomaly that loved him - just not physically. Because that Bill could save him in this moment. He was all-knowing. He'd know how to get them out of this mess with both of their lives to spare, and he could make it happen. 

But all Bill can do now is hold Dipper as he sobs, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing circles over the palms of his trembling hands, feeling utterly helpless.

But that was the price of being eternally human. 

Dipper stretches to thread his hands through Bill's hair, fingers tangling in the golden strands. Their foreheads fall together - hot as a furnace, hot like stars fizzling out into the morning sun - shallow breaths brushing over chapped lips, teary, bleary eyes so close that their tears fall onto each other's cheeks. 

"Bill..." Dipper breathes.

_**Violets are blue.** _

The sound of Bill's own name is like a dagger to his heart. A dagger that is freshly polished, sharpened into a precise silver point, and perfect for drawing blood. And that it does. 

Dipper speaks on a whisper, a tired sob. His eyes are pleading with Bill. 

"I'm so sorry," is all that he can think to say. He wipes away a tear falling from Dipper's swollen eye with a tender sweep of his thumb. His fingers linger at the high point of his cheeks where his flushed skin is dusted with faint freckles.  
He's a complete mess, face swollen with incessant crying, disheveled curls sticking to the dried blood oozing from the gash in his forehead. 

There are much worse ways to die; there are much less _glamorous_ ways to go. 

Dipper should be thankful. 

He _could_ be all alone - but he's wrapped tightly in his lover's arms, chest to chest, hand in hand, fiery skin on fiery skin. He _could_ be whisked away without warning - but he's got a glittery hourglass to tell him all of the time he's wasting. And he _could_ look like he's dying.

Dipper doesn't look like he's dying. He just looks...  
spent.

_**If I'm going to die tonight,** _

The hourglass, perched like a prestigious trophy inside the transparent case behind the trembling boys, behind to count down their last minutes together. 

And it's just as sad as it sounds. 

Dipper can see the sand draining too quickly into the bottom of the glass. An involuntary sob escapes his mouth, and he's quick to cover it with his hand. His fingernails are caked with dried blood. 

That sob is the sound that breaks their hearts into four torn halves. 

Dipper buries his face in the crook of Bill's neck, and Bill curls himself around Dipper's quivering form. 

They are two pieces of a puzzle, fit perfectly together.

Behind them, the hourglass makes little noise - if any at all - as it pours out the last grains of sand. And yet, to Dipper, the sound is absolutely deafening. 

There are things he should be doing with his last seconds, but he can't think to do any of them. It feels as if his head is filling with sand - numbing his senses and pulling him under. 

' _Dipper, this is dying._ '

**_I want to die kissing you._ **

He can feel the last of his time pour from the hourglass. And as everything begins to fizzle out, Dipper presses his mouth to Bill's - taking only the faint taste of tears in the cracks of his chapped lips with him as he goes.


End file.
